No one. Not even Roxbury.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, her body trembling when his fingers caressed her cheek. “Yes,” she breathed, finally answering his question. “You’re confusing me.”
He closed the distance between them, his hand sliding like silk to the back of her neck. His fingers cupped her head and tilted her face to his. “Then let me make everything perfectly clear.”
He bent down, firm, sensual lips inches from hers. “You are my responsibility while I’m here.” His voice was low and husky. “Mine. And until I leave, you’ll do as I say.”
“No, I won’t,” she murmured, lips whispering against his as she spoke. “I’ll—”
His lips skimmed against hers, stilling her protests. Pulsing heat seared through her body. She forgot what she’d been about to say and gave herself up to the sensation of his mouth on hers. At first there was just the gentle press of skin on skin, no movement. Then, with maddening slowness, his lips skated across hers, tracing the contours of her mouth, pressing firmly, then light as a summer breeze against her.
She was being drugged. As soon as she accustomed herself to one sensation, he changed tactics, introduced a new experience. He was teasing her, giving her just a taste of what a real kiss from him would be like.
Suddenly, the anticipation was too much. She wanted the full experience. Her hands came up and she fisted them in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. He groaned, and his arm circled her waist, dragging her against him. He was all muscles and hardness, his body taut with leashed power.
His mouth opened, and with a subtle pressure he parted her lips as well. His tongue swept inside, claiming her, his arm tightening around her at the same time. Francesca kissed him back, knowing it must be a dream, knowing that Ethan Caxton would never, in real life, be kissing her. But it felt so real, and it had been such a long time since she’d been kissed or held or—
Her whole body went rigid. An old image of Roxbury flickered through her mind. Her head was shoved against a rough iron gate while Roxbury’s mouth savaged hers. She could still taste the bitter blood on her lips as they began to bleed from the sharpness of his teeth.
She heaved the picture away with all her strength. “No!” she screamed. “Stop!”
Seventeen
“Stop!” Francesca screamedagain. The panic threatened to drown her. She couldn’t breathe. Needing air, she snatched oxygen in large gulps. He released her instantly, stepping away. His expression was a mix of concern and...lust?
“No.” She took a step back then another. “Don’t touch me.”
“I won’t.” He held up his hands, palms out, the gesture one of harmless surrender. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Time and place tangled in her mind, but one thought remained constant.Please don’t let him hit me. Please don’t let him strike.
Watching him warily, she retreated another step and stumbled into the table behind her. He reached for her, and she screamed, “Don’ttouch me!”
He drew back.
Teetering, she regained her balance then shrank further away from him. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled uncontrolled down her cheeks. The details of his face blurred, but she didn’t miss the look of shock in his eyes.